of which we have the least
by modernlifehistorian
Summary: If she ever forgives him for this, if she even remembers it at all, he'll never be able to forgive himself. {Lyatt fic; canon divergent post 1x14}


And I'm back with yet ANOTHER Timeless fic. Trust me when I say I am working on every current piece. New chapters for a few other fics will be comin' atcha soon. This story just kinda came to me out of nowhere and demanded to be written. It begins at 1x13/14 and is divergent from there. Title is based on a Hemingway quote.

Shout out to my beans and goats for constantly dealing with my random, crazy ideas, beta reading and offering endless support.

Enjoy :)

The rapping of his knuckles on the door can't compare to the intense racing of his heart.

He doesn't know why he came here of all places. It puts his mission in jeopardy. It puts her in danger.

But, god… how is he supposed to leave without seeing her one more time?

The door swings open, and the mere sight of her has him doubting this whole plan.

She's adorable. There's really no other way he can think to put it. Disheveled hair, matching pajama set, and a quite horrendous, floor length, kimono-style robe that would look ridiculous on anyone but her. There's a domesticity in her that he's amazed she's maintained through all of this, one he finds himself suddenly longing to share.

 _Focus, Logan. Jessica. You came here for Jessica. You're doing all of this for Jess—_

"Hi."

Without waiting for invitation, he ducks into her entryway, silently observing her home while earnestly searching for the right words to say.

"Nice place."

 _Try again._

"Look, I'm sorry; I know it's late, but I have something I need to tell you, and I'm only telling you because I trust you." She tugs the robe around herself.

"Okay?"

"I'm going to get Jessica back."

It occurs to him now that he never considered the consequences of telling her in person. He never considered how her face would contort in confusion. How the simple question of 'what?' would cut through his resolve and cast a blinding light on what they'd never dared to speak of.

He never considered that a woman like Lucy Preston might love him.

"Me and Rufus. Tonight. We're stealing the Lifeboat." She scoffs, and he sees the moment where her emotions give way to logic.

"Do you have any idea how much _trouble_ you are going to get into?" She hisses. "I mean this is—that's _insane._ "

"That's an understatement," he chuckles, but it's not out of any excitement for what he's about to undertake. It's about _her._ Her rambling, consequence oriented mind that had irritated him in 1939, convinced him they would never be able to work together, but he had grown to lov—

 _Jessica, Logan. You're going to save Jessica._

She stands frozen for a moment, her face dumbfounded by his late night intrusion, his reckless undertaking, but when she speaks again, it's the last thing he expects her to say.

"Okay, let me get dressed."

"Lucy, no, no, no, Lucy, I'm not dragging you into this."

"If you think for one second I'm letting you go without me, you're insane," she argues, making her way up the stairs.

"You have a deal with Agent Christopher to get your sister back," he reminds her. "If you come, that's out the window." It's faultless logic, and by the way she stops mid step proves it was successful in deterring her from jumping off the deep end with him. But if he's being honest with himself, his explanation for not bringing her along is more so for his own selfish reason.

If he brings her, he would not see the mission through. His feelings for Lucy had broken through the part of his heart he believed could only belong to Jessica, and this realization had scared the hell out of him.

She radiates of second chances and re-imagined dreams he never thought possible, and he knows if he allows them the chance, they could become something unlike he and Jess ever had, but his loyalty to his deceased wife taunts him, reminding him of every failure and every fault he had as a husband. He had vowed 'til death do us a part,' but now he had the power to reverse death. How could he not even try?

Even if it meant turning away from the woman in front of him.

"Does it have to be tonight?"

"I don't have a deal…" he whispers. "The minute we actually stop Flynn, they're never letting me near that machine again."

Again, he masks his selfishness with false reason. If he waits another day, falls for Lucy anymore, the chances of him finding redemption for Jessica's death will fade, leaving him to live with the guilt.

Lucy deserves more than that. More than him.

"What if Flynn takes out the Mothership while you're gone?"

"The Lifeboat CPU will tell us and we'll come right back."

"What if you get into a sticky history situation, and you can't history yourself out of it? What are you gonna do without me?"

"I've done my research."

She takes a step towards him, something solemn and desperate hazing her eyes.

"What if someone gets hurt?"

There's a second he indulges just to take her in for everything she truly is. The unimaginable beauty of the heart she bore out for everyone, no matter what. The heart he knows he's breaking with every word that bleeds from his lips.

The next second he has to look away.

"I'm gonna go back and make sure the killer's parents never meet. That way he's never born… Nobody's getting hurt." The hypocrisy of his words burn, leaving them both scarred.

"Lucy, Jessica's killer murdered two other women. My hope is to save all three."

"What about Rufus?"

"I got him covered."

"What about you? Best case scenario, you get kicked off the team."

Leave it to Lucy Preston to worry about him in the aftermath of the chaos he's about to single handedly create.

The brief swell of affection reminds him how desperately he needs to leave. She's reaching out for him, but he won't grab hold. He can't. So he breathes in deeply… and lies.

"Whatever it is; it'll be worth it to have Jessica back."

In all his life, silence had never screamed so loudly, or time moved so painstakingly slow as in those next few seconds as Lucy sinks to the floor, her face buried in her hands.

If she ever forgives him for this, if she even remembers it at all, he'll never be able to forgive himself.

Is it so worth it? Trading one eternal guilt for another?

"Are you okay?" It's a pathetic question. But he's helpless to help her in anyway he knows how.

She doesn't answer, instead going on to astonish him even more at the depth of her selflessness.

"What do you need me to do?"

He explains the plans he's made to keep her clean with Agent Christopher, hoping it would be the last thing he'd need to say before bowing out, but she has one more question, the first he can't answer.

"Why does this feel like we're saying goodbye?"

His gaze drops to floor, hiding from the truth they both know.

If he succeeds, or even if he doesn't, it will never be the same. _They_ will never be the same. They can't be.

In a sudden burst of motion, she's in front of him, red-rimmed eyes searching for a different truth, her mouth slightly agape. And in the back of his mind, the man she helped him become, the man she saved, the man he's caged away is screaming for her to fight for him, promising to stay by her side if only she'd ask.

 _Please, Lucy. Just ask._

She reaches out for him, but only to straighten out the lapel of his jacket. How could such a mundane action breathe of such unspeakable intimacy?

"Good luck, Wyatt."

Would she ever have really asked him to stay?

The smile that creeps towards his lips is instinctual as the thought of his response brings to light every memory of her… since the very beginning.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He takes one more moment just to impress the memory of her on his mind as if he might forget.

The next moment, he's gone.

* * *

Rain had pierced through every layer of the ridiculous 80s outfit he put together, the blood of a man who wasn't supposed to die is smeared over his hands, but the only thing he can feel is the agonizing anticipation of what is awaiting him back in 2017.

There's no chance the killer had been born, so isn't it guaranteed that Jessica will be there, just waiting for him to come home?

There should be a joy blooming from his chest the moment they land, despite the knowledge of what is undoubtedly a whole team of homeland security awaiting him beyond the hatch of the Lifeboat, yet it's an impending sense of dread that begins to stir.

And suddenly he's no longer shivering from the rain.

What greets them upon arrival is everything he expected to find. He comes out with his hands already raised in surrender, never intending to fight the consequences he knew would come.

The symphony of chaos that erupts the moment he steps from the Lifeboat washes over him as nothing more than white noise as his eyes zero in on Lucy.

"Tell me about Jessica." He asks breathlessly, but something isn't right. Distress consumes the air around her as she looks amongst the crowd.

"I'm so sorry… Jessica's still dead. They never found her killer."

"What?" No, no, no. This can't be all for nothing. He can't have ruined everything good in his life for _nothing._

"I'm so sorry," she repeats because what else can she say? He failed. He's about to be dragged of to god knows where without changing a thing.

His mind is banished into hysteria. All he can think is that there is some mistake, that Jess _has_ to be alive, that that man can't have died for nothing, that he can't have ruined his team, his life, for _nothing._

* * *

It's not the shittiest excuse for a holding cell he's ever seen, but then again he doubts Connor Mason assumed he would be housing criminals, however temporarily, when he first designed this warehouse.

The questions are relentless, pricking at his brain with a dulled sharpness, but there's one that keeps rising above the rest.

What the _hell_ is he supposed to do now?

Before he can even begin contemplating what sort of shit this will have landed him in, the lock on the door jiggles, like someone can't get the key to turn.

He doubts it's Homeland Security on the other side of the door, but, still, he isn't ready when the lock finally turns, and she emerges.

"Hey," she greets, her voice a little softer than he's grown used to.

"Lucy."

Discomfort reads across the pale skin of her face

"You doing okay?"

"I don't… I don't really know. I didn't save Jessica. I've screwed up our team, I hurt you.. but…" He takes a deep breath.

"But?"

"I don't know if I'm okay because there's a part of me, a bigger part than I cared to admit, that's glad it didn't work, that's glad nothing changed. Even a year ago this failure would've been the end of me, you know? But now… I couldn't stop thinking about everyone else I was hurting through this. I couldn't stop thinking about—"

 _About you._

The silence weighs heavy on both of them, filled with every _what if_ that they can't help but dwell on now.

What if he'd succeeded?

What if she'd gone with him?

What if she'd ask him to stay?

What if he'd said yes?

But it's too late for any of that, isn't it? At every cross road, every moment of choice, he chose what was best for him. Since Jess died, he's lived in a haze of selfishness, a haze that had only begun to clear since Lucy and Rufus entered his life. But, of course, his head had been so far up his ass that he'd not even realized it until now, until it's too late for him to do a damn thing about it.

So all that's left is for him to resign himself to the consequences of his escapade.

And hope that Lucy and Rufus will be alright without him.

"How long do you think we have until Homeland is barging in here?" He huffs, running nervous hands across the denim jeans, still damp from three-decades-old rain.

"Christopher said she'd hold them off as long as she could but…" Her arms tighten around herself as she glances over her shoulder. "I can't imagine we have much more time."

Is their time left together really down to seconds? Will he ever see her again once she's escorted out the door and him to whatever blacksight they have planned for him?

The thought propels him forward with sudden boldness until they're mere inches apart.

"Lucy, I—" What's left to say? Even if he is to let every feeling pour into the space between them, she has no reason to believe a word of it. Not when no more than 24 hours ago he'd thrown whatever had formed between them back in her face, swearing that anything would be worth it to have Jessica back.

The door flies open with a force that shocks them apart, and Lucy's pulled from his sights before he can blink, leaving the words he finally found for her still hanging on his tongue.

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

A breath of relief he wasn't even aware he's been holding flies from his lips the moment the door of the warehouse closes behind him. Thanks to Agent Christopher, he's free from the blacksight, still a high level fugitive from the US government, sure, but he's free for a second chance with his team, to make everything right.

Christopher is standing by herself in the middle of an opening between whatever the hell this building is stocked with, leaving him to wonder when Lucy and Rufus are going to be making their appearance, and just what he plans on saying to them.

"Where's the team?" He asks, glancing around anxiously.

A rock drops in the pits of his stomach at the way her face twists at his question. He's never seen the Homeland Security Agent with such a look of unease or, dare he say, fear.

"They won't be meeting us here," she answers blatantly, but, no, there has to be more to it than that.

"They won't be meeting us here?" He repeats, clearly not too pleased with the vagueness in her response. "Then where exactly _will_ they be meeting us?"

"Wyatt—"

"What are you not telling me, Christopher? Where are Lucy and Rufus?"

She straightens up with a deep breath, looking him straight in the eye.

"We lost all contact with the Lifeboat. As of now, Lucy and Rufus are lost in 1927."

* * *

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